


The Way to the Moon

by celestialskiff



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Intimacy, Non-Sexual Age Play, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 23:30:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3187295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialskiff/pseuds/celestialskiff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A poem about being little. I wouldn't normally post my poetry here but this seemed appropriate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way to the Moon

I made a nest  
when other people made armour. They soldered iron   
around their skin and I chose angora blankets,   
plush jungle animals, and curled up small. 

Outside I'm always naked. I never made a helmet:  
I preferred to press satin   
to bruised lips, and whisper to my elephants.   
They smell of lavender, wild gorse, honey. 

The sky bites when you're naked. Armour hurts,   
I'm told, but people grow callouses. I've got scabby arms.   
At work they shout and I hide  
in a spidery cupboard and suck my thumb. 

You're only small, I whisper. I rock back and forth in the dark.   
Later I hate myself and kick leaves   
into flurries around my feet. I pretend they're pixies  
with twig bodies and flame wings, 

laughing. I need them to be real:   
my skin hurts, it's hard to be a pretend dragon   
without any scales. And I can't sleep   
without my blanket. I want to be different. Then I find her. 

She's got a rabbit in her pocket,   
fleece and satin. She flinches when I see it. I whisper stories   
about a winged elephant I'm riding to the moon,   
and tell her I hide in cupboards too. Lullabies in the dark. 

Our hands meet. I touch the pad of her thumb.   
I see you, we say to each other. I see you. I see you.


End file.
